Love, Interrupted
by constellations.daughter
Summary: From first kiss to declarations of love, all of the people that care for Sherlock and John can't help but stumble upon them and help John guide their relationship on.


**The First Time**

The first time someone finds out is also _the first time_ , which makes it all the more bloody infuriatingly annoying.

They've just solved a case, one that had been stumping them for a good fortnight (a horrible, terrible serial killer, murdering little girls and leaving them out dressed up as dolls, makeup and all; Sherlock had managed to deduce and arrest the murderer, trying to avenge his baby daughter's murder ten year previous) and even though two hours ago all John could think about was sleep, now it's the farthest thing from his mind.

The exhaustion is gone, the irritation, the exasperation, all replaced with thrill, the _high_ ( _shit, he sounds like Sherlock_ ) of a case well solved. They're in the kitchen, John leaning against the counter, debating whether to make tea or something a tad more celebratory, and Sherlock sprawled over a chair, relaxed in post-case bliss, and their eyes and grins meet and John thinks _God, he's brilliant_.

And then, _God, he's beautiful_.

And suddenly the second thought doesn't feel foreign at all but a natural continuation to the first and John is overcome with a rush of emotion, exhilaration and arousal and tears and fears all mixed into one, and across from him Sherlock's eyes shine with the radiance of the final piece fitting into the puzzle and then-

And then they both practically _leap_ across the room, lips meeting and hands touching and holding tight and never letting go in a kiss that is more than a kiss but a burst of fireworks running through Joh's body, all the way down to his toes. John's hands are in Sherlock's hair, twisting and twining those dark curls around his fingers, and Sherlock is running his hands over John's face and body as if he's drowning and John is oxygen.

Sherlock starts to pull away just the slightest bit, John can feel his smooth white brow furrowing into thinking mode against his, and for a moment that lasts an eternity he's terrified he's fucked up the best thing that's ever happened and that's he's ever had (and since when does he think that, anyway?); but then the small part of brain that isn't deprived of blood or flooded with feelings notices the faint ringing of the phone. Sherlock's phone. Which is quite worrying, because everyone knows to text Sherlock, that he doesn't answer his phone, so with a faint sigh John disengages just slightly and murmurs, "You might want to get that, could be important if someone's bloody calling you."

Sherlock shakes his head like a dog emerging from water, curls flying everywhere, and then he rakes a hand through them and his eyes focus.

"Quite right, John," he reaches out for the phone, still ringing, answers it, barks out a "Yes?" with a faint hitch in voice. John hears muted jumbles of sound coming from the phone, and Sherlock's face creases in annoyance that only Mycroft can elicit. _Shit_ , John thinks, looking around in a panic for cameras, as Sherlock snaps out a "Thank you, brother dear." and hangs up.

"Was that…?"

"Yes."

"And he saw…" John gesticulates wildly.

"Yes."

John knows he must be bright red by now, but there's no way he compares to Sherlock, who is blushing a furious shade of puce.

"And…?"

"And he sends us his congratulations. A gift basket is on its way, filled with," Sherlock curls his long fingers into quotation marks, "treat and tools of the trade."

 _Oh_ , John thinks, and then feels the blood rush from his face straight to his crotch.

"Well, if Mycroft is so concerned with being a caring big brother, we can hardly refuse his gifts, can we?" He asks with a sly smile, stalking his way up to Sherlock. He places his hands on the other man's chest. "That would be quite rude of us."

Light and mirth dawn in Sherlock's eyes, along with something new that John can't yet name.

"We don't want to be rude to Mycroft, now, do we? Can't have us insulting the British government, can we?" he smirks and then leans in and kisses John, all tongues and teeth, and John hopes they manage to last 'til the package arrives.

Author's note: Your reviews and constructive criticism mean the world to me. Please and thank you.

Also, I'm looking for a beta reader.

Thanks!


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